Fascinating food in New York and occasionally farther afield

Hamilton Heights

Closed by fire in April 2014, Devin's finally reopened in the summer of 2017. The decorative tiles, which greet you at the doorway, were undamaged; inside, a few steps down from street level, the long, narrow dining area looks much as you might remember it. (If a counter furnished with stools, beside a mirrored wall, isn't your scene, the benches in nearby Donnellan Square offer a fair-weather alternative, but you'll have to provide your own tunes.)

And the namesake menu item — presumably whiting, since catfish, flounder, porgy, and even tilapia incur a surcharge — is as filling as ever. Fish and chips ($7.50).

On many Dominican menus, you'll find a belly-filling combo called tres golpes, or "three strikes," namely salami, cheese, and eggs, all of them fried. Mangú, boiled and mashed green plantain, is the default accompaniment. This tre golpe sushi roll ($14) — since it does not incorporate "sushi," Japanese for "vinegared rice" — is not quite true to its name. Given the mangú, however, it is, literally, a culinary mashup.

And it is belly-filling, especially when you account for the added chunks of avocado, for the light tempura treatment of the nori wrapper, and the dips. Flanking the soy sauce are a spicy mayo (to the right) and, better still, a thick, slightly sweet plantain-based sauce.

Note also MamaSushi's rendition of "tres golpes," which replicates the usual Dominican pronunciation by omitting the final letters S, as "tre golpe." Here's a similar example, from the same neighborhood, that shows the effect of colloquial speech on spelling.

Aquí aceptamos bitcoin and, if we are to believe the other stickers affixed to the front door and to the register, all the familiar plastic as well as several additional payment systems. When settling the bill for a $7 lunch special, however, it seems only right simply to fork over the long green. Dominican standards like baked chicken and stewed okra — two of many items on display behind the counter, available on a rotating daily schedule — are worth the outlay of ready money.

Note also the throwback paper placemats. The "cocktail guide" is for entertainment purposes only: You'll have better luck ordering a morir soñando than a whiskey sour.

The Oaxacan vendor who sold this fruit — as well as compact black avocados, dried fish that could be ground into flavoring for moles, and two distinct preparations of chapulines — called it simply granada, Spanish for pomegranate. In Mexico, it's often distinguished from that crimson orb by the names granada China (Chinese pomegranate) and granadilla dulce (sweet little pomegranate).

Passion fruit, however, is a closer relative, and granada China (as I'll call it) can be eaten much the same way. Once the smooth, firm rind has been breached, everything within — seeds, surrounding flesh, and membranous sac, with a prevailing flavor that's sweet rather than tart — can be spooned out. A fellow customer who remembered this fruit from her childhood backyard offered a homier approach: Bite or tear off one end (as shown below), then squeeze the insides past your lips. In other words, treat it like a paper cup of Italian ice, but use a firmer grip.

Inspired by a member of the kitchen staff who'd emerged for his lunch break, this was an instance of "I'll have what he's having": guineos topped with stewed eggplant ($6). The only drama was in my decision to accept the counterwoman's offer of a little chicken gravy (gratis).

Washington, D.C., has a decades-old Ethiopian community, and the district is home to more Ethiopians than any other U.S. city. But their cuisine has been notably resistant to Americanization, according to one D.C.-based food writer. "Why [has] no enterprising local chef come along and attempted to Westernize the Ethiopian meal," he asked. Allow Tsion (See-on) to offer a brief reply.

With just the right amount of blueberries, perhaps the proprietor could prepare a blend in that same shimmering cerulean. As any squeegee man will tell you, however, this particular liquid is suited for cleaning windshields and not slaking thirst. (Display space may be at a premium, sure, but right next to the menu is an odd spot for wiper fluid.) I warmed up instead with a hot cup of ginger tea (small, $1) and also carried off a paper cone of gofio.

Leche cortada, the vendor called it. This was his shorthand for a walkup clientele who knew what's what, and who could see that almost all his wares, whether served in a cup or in cookie-like form, clearly fell into the category of "dulces" — "sweets." He didn't need to trouble with the full name, "dulce de leche cortada" — a "sweet of curdled milk."

The dulce de leche I once bought from a nearby bakery was, in retrospect, a more caramelized version that perhaps also relied more heavily on brown sugar. Raisins are typical; common flavorings include vanilla extract, lime peel (removed before serving), and cinnamon-like sticks of canella (one rested at the bottom of my cup). Invariably the recipes specify that as the milk cooks down, the resulting curds mustn't be broken up too finely; leche cortada should have a fudgy richness, but it ought to have some texture, too.

Dominican sweets tableBroadway near the southeast corner with 160th St., ManhattanHours very irregular

"Shorba," one transliteration of many from Arabic, simply means "soup." It shares a section of the menu with split lentil soup and several meat broths, each of which, back home, might also be called a shorba of one sort or another. A parenthetical "Yemeni style" adds no clarity for newcomers like me — the restaurant itself is Yemeni style.

It's made with barley, the menu does note, and so perhaps is a year-round variation on shorba qamah, a wheat soup typically served during Ramadan. Winning factors in its favor: low price ($2), lots of barley well-dosed with chopped onion, and enticing aromas that rose with the steam when my shorba arrived at the table.

Note, by the way, the incongruous pattern on the plate. In light of the television programming this afternoon, the wall hangings, and the framed photographs, all of them in accord with the handwritten Arabic signage at the counter, these markings can be taken simply as a sign of frugality. For all I know, the Yemeni equivalent of Fish's Eddy might carry Chinese-themed overstock, too.

Below: mushakal bilforn ($8), baked vegetables with rice (or, if you prefer, bread). Like the soup, this was steaming when it arrived.